


The Kings and the Sacrificial Victim

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [54]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Cock Piercing, Cock Rings, Dildos, Group Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pearling, Sadism, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: As usual, this is a standalone story but can be read as part of an arc with my 3 previous stories about Prince Castor and the slave market down in Umbar. Ethril has volunteered to act as a substitute for Thranduil and has gone off with Prince Castor to Umbar to be his slave. How long will he be able to tolerate Castor’s sadistic sexual cruelty? And will his sacrifice mean that he can eventually claim Thranduil as his prize? First story in this arc is: The Kings and the Slave Market.





	The Kings and the Sacrificial Victim

 

 

.o00o.

 

**Saraleee, this is all your fault.  I wasn’t going to write any more and then you gave me an idea! DEDEDOTTI also gave me a similar idea - don't know what I would do without prompts from my readers!**

 

The Kings and the Sacrificial Victim

 

Pt I

 

Thorin stirred in the middle of the night and automatically reached out for Thranduil.  But, his searching hand found only a cold and empty space where the elven king’s warm body ought to have been.  He was expecting that.  This is how it had been for the past five months or so and, with a groan, he slipped out from between the sheets and stumbled towards the balcony.

 

The elf was standing there, as still and pale as a marble statue, staring fixedly at the distant stars that glittered over Mirkwood.  Thorin moved silently up behind him and slid his arms around his waist.  Thranduil sighed and laid his blond head back against the dwarf’s comforting shoulder.

 

“Do you think he sees the same stars?” he asked.  And the dwarven king didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was.

 

“No,” was his murmured response.  “I think he must be fast asleep, as you should be.”

 

The elf gave a slight shudder.  “I’m afraid he won’t be asleep, not if he is sharing Castor’s bed,” he muttered.  “Why did I let him go?  Why did I let him make such a sacrifice for me?”  And he began to weep.

 

Thorin turned his lover gently in his arms to face him.  Every night Thranduil asked the same question.  “Because,” was the stock response, “he loved you and wanted to do this for you.”  And then he led him slowly back to their bed and tucked him in.

 

Well, it wasn’t much of an answer, not when Ethril’s sacrifice had been so great; but what else could Thorin say?  Six months earlier, Ethril, the banished elf lord, had turned up unexpectedly at a Mirkwood council meeting where Castor the Prince of Umbar was demanding the return of his property – no less than the elven king whom he had purchased from the auction block down in Near Harad for a sum that was enough to buy a kingdom.  Thranduil had been kidnapped in the Grey Havens before being shipped to Umbar and sold as a slave.  After his rescue by Thorin and return to Mirkwood, it was only to be expected that the elven council would offer their king protection – but they hadn’t.  Instead they had seriously wondered whether or not, when Castor turned up on their doorstep demanding the return of his slave, he had ‘property rights’, and they were about to take a vote on the matter when Ethril had stepped forward and offered himself in Thranduil’s place.  Because he loved him.

A distressed Thranduil had tried to warn him that his fate at the hands of a sexually voracious and sadistic master would be cruel and debasing beyond his imagining, but Ethril had resisted his pleas.  He would do this for the king he had loved for a thousand years and, when Castor had reached the end of his life (and, he obviously hoped, when Thorin had also come to the end of his) he would return to Mirkwood to be with the elven king, perhaps to live their eternal days together.  And so, the prince and his entourage had returned to Umbar with Ethril as a willing slave.

 

But, Thranduil was having a hard time getting over his guilt.  And, every night, Thorin would find him out on the balcony, staring fixedly at the stars.  And the dwarf was in a state of confusion too because of his ambivalence towards Ethril, the elf lord who had tried to break up his relationship with Thranduil and who had been sent into exile because of it.  He was jealous and suspicious of the feelings that the elven king might harbour for Ethril and yet he was grateful because the elf had once saved his life and now had rescued both him and Thranduil from slavery down in Umbar.

 

And yet……and yet……  Although the thought had not been exactly voiced, he just knew that Ethril was only passing the time until the dwarf’s death when he hoped to return and claim the elven king – as surely he would, because now Thranduil owed him so much.  He climbed slowly into bed with his lover and finally said it: “When I am dead, will you take Ethril as your next partner?”

 

There was a long, long pause.  Only a year ago, before all this Castor business, Thranduil would have said what he always said – that Thorin was his One and he would have no other after the dwarf had died.  But, now the king was in torment.  He gave a broken sigh.

 

“You are the only one I have ever loved, Thorin.  You are the only one I shall ever love.  But, if Ethril returns to claim me, then I don’t know what I shall do.  I owe him my freedom and I owe him your life.  Nor could I have borne the thought of you as Castor’s bonded servant because I know how he would have made you suffer.  Both of us owe him so much and he will endure many things for his gesture.  He has been as constant as those stars and…….perhaps…..perhaps…..”

 

“If he loved you,” muttered Thorin angrily, “then he wouldn’t make dishonourable demands upon you.”  But, to himself, he wondered why he should care so much when he would be dead and cold and beyond such jealousies.  Yet, in this life, he _did_ care and he _was_ jealous and very disturbed by such thoughts.

 

An equally tormented Thranduil replied: “My decision will not have to be made for years yet, Thorin, and then I don’t know what will happen or what I shall decide.”

 

And so, it was left at that.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Down in Umbar, things were as bad for Ethril, if not worse, than Thranduil had predicted.  And the elf lord, kneeling on the mattress and grasping the bedhead railings with whitened knuckles as Castor thrust into him with vicious enthusiasm, was wondering how many weary years he could endure the prince’s attentions before he finally snapped.  The sexual assaults upon his body and the increasingly unpleasant sexual demands from the prince interspersed with regular beatings were bad enough, but there were other factors which made his slavery hard to bear.

 

First, there was his isolation.  There were no other elves in the household, of course, and Ethril found that he was desperately missing the companionship of others of his kind.  But, apart from Castor, the only other person he really associated with was Brand, the prince’s chief servant and right-hand man.  He was tall, handsome and efficient and, when he had first been bought at the slave auction, he had been Castor’s sexual toy for some months.  Brand had developed an intense and unhealthy passion for his master and had been heart-broken when Castor had cast him off in favour of a new plaything.  But, the prince had kept Brand by his side since he realised how useful a loyal and devoted slave could be. 

 

And Brand was bound by a perverted love to his prince even though it tormented him to be involved in the preparation of new slaves for his master’s bed and even though he was often forced to witness what passed between Castor and his pets.  But, the love for his prince only seemed to increase in its intensity as the years passed. 

 

The arrival of first Thranduil and then Ethril had thrown him into a state of despair.  What were his chances of returning to his master’s bed when Castor had elves at his command?  Their beauty and their sexual skills could not be surpassed and he gazed enviously at Ethril as he gracefully drifted about the bedroom, stripped of his clothing except for a few pieces of gold jewellery that decorated his arms and his ankle.  Totally stunning!

 

Ethril was aware of Brand’s jealousy and that made life even more difficult for him.  But, a much bigger problem – bigger than the dildos, the cock rings and the whips that were used on him - was the obsession that the prince had had for Thranduil’s body art – the pearling and the piercing on his prick that he had had done for Thorin’s sake.  It had given Castor an intense sexual thrill to be fucked by such a cock and, after a month or so back home in Umbar, he decided that Ethril must go through the process too.

 

Although Ethril had also been intrigued by Thranduil’s adaptations, the thought of having his own cock mutilated in a similar way filled him with disgust.  But, he was a slave and had no say in the matter - he had to submit.

 

However, Thranduil had been at an advantage because the work had been done by Bris, the extremely skilled lady tattoo artist.  She was unyielding in her views on aesthetic appeal and refused to let Thranduil select any but the smallest pearls or the most sensibly sized barbell for the piercing at the end of his member.  But, Castor called in a local tattooist from the dock area who was more used to meeting the requirements of rough, coarse seamen than those of aesthetically-minded elves.

 

And Castor’s tastes were coarse too: the sensation from the pearls and the barbell had been extraordinarily stimulating and so he had decided that bigger was better.  He went down to his treasury and chose some very large pearls and, when the tattooist offered him a range of barbells, he chose an oversized one.

 

The tiny slits made in Ethril’s cock so that the pearls could be forced under the skin plus the piercing on the tip made for a rather unpleasant experience.  “Let it heal for two weeks,” muttered the tattooist.  But, after a week, Castor became impatient and insisted on trying it out, forcing an erection upon the elf with oiled fingers and a dildo plus a cock ring to sustain the engorgement.  The prince sat astride the elf’s hips and pushed himself down upon the erection: just looking at it had excited him and he groaned in ecstasy as it made its way slowly up his backside.  The sensation was exceptional and, fortunately for Ethril, who was suffering immense pain, Castor came quickly and collapsed upon his breast.

 

But, after a rest, his master rolled off him and began to pump his cock once more.  Ethril refused to play the slave any longer and seized him by the wrist.

 

“How dare you defy me!” snarled Castor.

 

“Well,” returned the elf, letting go of him, “if you want it to turn black and drop off, then go ahead.”

 

The prince hesitated sullenly for a moment and then got up angrily from the bed.  Without saying anything, he swept from the room.

 

With a sigh, Estril went to the bathing area next door and washed himself carefully and then he returned to the bedroom and studied himself in the mirror.  He was repulsed by what had been done to his cock, but at least it was reversible.  And he threw himself down on a pile of silken cushions in the corner of the room, wondering where Castor had gone.

 

A few minutes later, the prince strode back into the room with Brand following in his wake.  “Get undressed,” he growled bad-temperedly to his devoted man.  There was an elated expression on the servant’s face and he stripped off quickly and climbed into the bed.

 

Ethril rose from his pile of cushions but Castor snapped: “Stay where you are!   I shall give you another 5 days to recover, but, in the meantime……”  And he got upon the bed with his more than willing slave.

 

Brand was in ecstasies that his master had taken him to his bed once more but Castor was in a vile temper and was brutally unkind.  He lay amongst the cushions with his legs sprawled apart whilst Brand sucked him with an almost religious fervour.

 

“You’ll never be as good as the elf,” sneered his master.  “He has had centuries of practice.”  Brand tried harder and, at last, Castor became erect.  He kicked his servant over on his back and, kneeling between his thighs, began to fuck him violently.  Brand was euphoric and tossed and moaned.

 

“Keep still!” snapped the prince.  “This isn’t for your pleasure, you fool!  Though how I am expected to get any pleasure from this when your arse is nowhere near as tight as the elf’s, I don’t know.  Let’s see what you can do with that pathetic cock of yours.”  And he yanked himself out and presented his backside to him.

 

For the next two hours, Brand tried his hardest; but his best efforts were only met with a constant stream of abuse.  Ethril was forced to watch and he felt the servant’s pain although why the man would love one such as this was beyond him.

 

When Castor finally fell asleep, Brand rose wearily from the bed.

 

“I’m sorry,” said the elf quietly.  “You deserve someone better than this.”

 

Brand just gave him a look: how could Ethril possibly understand?  And then he left the room.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

In Mirkwood, six or seven months after Ethril had left with Castor, things were improving.   It was only very occasionally now that Thorin found his partner out on the balcony as Thranduil slowly came to terms with the situation.  And the dwarf was also trying to reconcile himself to the possibility that Ethril might be the elven king’s partner after his death.

 

It was early afternoon and they were just getting dressed after a quiet fuck.  Thranduil had seemed morose and Thorin did not want to see him fall back into a depression again and so he had taken him in his arms and lain with him on the bed where he had been gently moving inside him for an hour or so until he finally came.

 

“I love you,” Thorin had said, kissing him deeply.  “You know that, don’t you?”

 

Thranduil had stroked his lover’s face.  “We shall become as we once were,” he reassured him.  “We shall get over this together.”

 

They were just buttoning up their shirts when a knock came at the door.  A wide-eyed servant stood there.  “It’s my lord Ethril,” he said.  “He’s come back!”

 

The two kings gaped as Ethril was shown into the room and a million thoughts tumbled through their minds.

 

“Is Castor dead?” gasped Thranduil.

 

The elf nodded and Thorin, thinking how he had commented to his partner that sometimes slaves turn on their masters, managed to blurt out: “You haven’t killed him, have you?”

 

Ethril looked at him bleakly.

 

.o00o.

 

Some weeks earlier, Ethril had been in despair.  He had hoped when he had left Mirkwood with Castor that, knowing the prince’s butterfly tastes, he would soon be cast aside for another.  And then he could wait quietly for his master’s death, however many years it took.  But, there was no sign of that: Castor seemed obsessed with him and his passions showed no sign of waning.  The only difference was that things were getting uglier.  What with the pearling and the piercing, the sex toys and the whips, voyeurism had become the prince’s new stimulus.

 

He had really enjoyed being watched as he and Brand had fucked each other during those days when Ethril’s cock was recovering from body art surgery.  But, even after the elf had healed, the thought of watching and being watched still attracted him.

 

When Brand was led into the bedroom, a delighted smile on his face, Ethril thought he would be watching the two together once more.  Instead, Brand was made to watch Castor’s ecstasies as the elf fucked him – and that upset the elven lord because he knew how distressing the servant must find such a performance.  And then the prince insisted that Brand also fuck Ethril whilst he watched the two of them together.  That was an even worse experience because Brand couldn’t get it up and the elf had to use all sorts of perverse means to help him under the threat of a beating.  When the erection was finally achieved, Castor sat back on the silken cushions and fondled himself until he came along with his slaves.

 

“You make a good whore,” said Castor, stretching languorously.  “We must do this again.”  And the voyeurism soon turned into a distasteful threesome.  And, when after such a session, Ethril made a stand and refused to participate again, the prince flogged him viciously.

 

How much longer could the elf lord stand this?  The following night, things came to a head.  Castor was riding him, seated across his thighs, his eyes closed as he savoured the pierced and pearled prick.  He was gasping in pleasure whilst Ethril winced in pain, the cuts and bruises on his back and buttocks hurting like fire.

 

“I hope you’re in agony,” grunted the prince.  “I’ll break you yet.  You must learn what it is to be a slave and do my every bidding.”

 

He came down even harder upon Ethril’s swollen member, tortured as it was by a cock ring.

 

“Perhaps,” he continued with a convulsive catching of his breath as the prick hit the spot, “we should increase the fun.  You, me, Brand and a few more of my slaves.  How would you like that?”

 

The gorge rose in Ethril’s throat.  Over the coming years, just how much worse would things get as Castor needed greater and greater stimulus to achieve orgasm?  Should he put an end to it now?  And he closed his eyes, trying to think of Thranduil and to convince himself that his sacrifice had been worth it.

 

Castor was grunting more loudly as he rose to his climax.  But, suddenly, he let out a choking gurgle and something hot and wet splashed all over Ethril’s face and chest.

 

The elf’s eyes jerked open and he saw a horrifying sight: Brand was kneeling on the mattress, one hand grasping Castor by the hair, another clutching a knife.  He had cut his master’s throat.  Gently, he lowered the dead man down upon the pillows whilst Ethril scrambled free of the body and stood there ready to defend himself against any attack.

 

“I haven’t come for you,” said the servant with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Only for Castor.”  He looked up earnestly at the elf.  “You understand why I did this, don’t you?”  And, yes, Ethril did.  He didn’t know how Brand had held out for so long because he had been ready to crack after only six months.

 

“Get out of here quickly,” the servant continued.  “I won’t get the blame because everyone knows how much I loved him – but you may.”  And he threw a towel to Ethril so that he could wipe himself down.  “Don’t linger.  Take the pouch of gold you will find in the desk – before the palace is ransacked.  There was no love lost between Castor and his slaves.”

 

The elf lord wiped the blood as well as he could from his face and chest and pulled on his shirt and breeches.  Then he went to fetch an all-enveloping cloak that he knew was hanging in an adjacent room.  His last view of Brand was of the servant tenderly nursing the prince in his arms with tears on his cheek.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The two kings stared at Ethril as he told his story.  Then Thorin lost his temper.

 

“By Mahal!  I’m not dead yet, Ethril!  What are you doing here?” he yelled.  The elf took a step backwards at the violence in his voice.

 

Thranduil tried to soothe the dwarf, taking him by the arm and making shushing noises.  “We owe him so much,” he muttered.

 

“Don’t you dare shush me, Thranduil,” Thorin snarled.  “What is he doing here if it’s not to take you from me?”  And then he looked from one to the other.  “I could almost believe that this is a ploy – that Ethril went with Castor to make us feel indebted and guilty but that he had no intention of staying down in Umbar.  And now will you give yourself to him?  And am I supposed to accept it all out of gratitude?”  Then, looking very upset, he marched from the room – and nearly tripped over the large and muscled man sitting right by the door.

 

“Sam!” gasped Thorin in amazement.

 

“Sam!” exclaimed Thranduil who had come running out behind his beloved.  “What are you doing here?!”

 

Sam looked embarrassed and pulled his seaman’s cap from his head.  “Well, you see, umm, it’s like this……”

 

.o00o.

 

And, yes, it was like this.

 

After fleeing the palace, Ethril had made his way down to the quay.  It was still dark, an hour before the dawn, but he knew that he would find some activity on any ship that planned to sail with the morning tide.  He could see one, now, he thought: _The Grey Gull_.  Its crew was busy making it ship-shape for its voyage.  He didn’t care where it was going: he just needed to be on it; and he mounted the gangway.

 

“Thranduil!” cried a surprised voice and the elf lord spun around to be confronted by a tall, handsome seaman – as tall as he was but a lot wider.

 

“Sorry,” said the man in some embarrassment.  “I thought you were someone I knew.  But, you’re an elf like him, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m a friend of Thranduil’s,” replied Ethril warily.

 

The man held out a big hand and grasped the elf’s hand warmly.  A grin spread across his face.  “I helped the king escape from here nearly a year ago.  You wouldn’t, by any chance, be trying to escape too?”

 

“How did you guess?” replied Ethril with an answering grin.  And a great feeling of relief passed through him.  “Where are you going?”

 

“Up the Anduin to Rohan.”

 

Better and better.  He would buy a horse from the Rohirrim and be back in Mirkwood in no time – perhaps in a month.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a spare cabin?” he asked.

 

.o00o.

 

Yes, it was Sam, who had parted company with the two kings after helping them reach the Grey Havens.  Thorin had paid him well but he had remained working on the ships after they had all waved goodbye to each other.  He was Master of _The Grey Gull_ in which he had bought a share.

 

And now he was sorting out Ethril in his cabin.

 

He was shocked when the elf had removed the voluminous cloak and he saw the smears of blood on his face.  It all had to be explained and Sam was more than pleased to discover that Castor was now dead.

 

But, then he saw the stiff way in which the elf moved and he had asked gently if he had been beaten, like Thranduil.

 

“I’ve got some medical skills and Thorin and I tended his back together.  Flogging is quite a popular pastime on board ship, so I know what I’m doing,” he offered.

 

The ship had finally set sail and Ethril stripped off, much more relaxed now that they were on the move.  He lay on his belly on the bunk whilst Sam fetched the medical kit and some special salves.  The seaman had big, work-worn hands but they treated the elf gently, tenderly massaging the soothing ointment into the damaged back and buttocks.

 

“What lovely skin you elves have,” he sighed in admiration.  “So beautiful.”

 

“Not so beautiful at the moment,” grimaced Ethril.

 

“It will soon heal,” was the reply. 

 

Then, Ethril lay on his back and Sam examined his cock.  The elf smiled to himself.  It was strange how at ease he felt with the man – not embarrassed at all.

 

“Is this pearling and piercing new?” he was asked.  “Is it sore?”

 

“Yes and yes.  Castor wanted me to have what Thranduil had.”

 

“And I bet it was done by that inefficient tattooist who has a parlour down at the docks.  I’d recognise his crass handiwork anywhere – I’ve had to treat several of our men.”  And he applied another soothing salve very carefully.  Ethril enjoyed the sensation.

 

“Now, rest,” said Sam as he pulled a sheet over him and tucked him in.  “I’ll bring you some food when you wake up.”

 

Over the next few weeks, the two of them kept company together and Sam tended his wounds every day.  Ethril found himself looking forward to the touch of his hands upon his body and he was very relaxed in his company.  The elf told him the history of Middle-earth and Sam told him all about his experiences at sea.  They drank together and laughed together and both thought vaguely that it would be a shame to part with each other when the time came.

 

A couple of uncomfortable things had happened.  Once, when Sam had been working up on deck in the heat of the sun, he had popped his head around the cabin door to make sure that Ethril didn’t need anything.  He was stripped to the waist and, for a moment, he reminded the elf lord of Thorin.  He was big and powerful and the muscles swelled on his arms and lay in ridges across his chest.  Ethril found himself staring and had to tear his eyes away in embarrassment, hoping that the seaman hadn’t noticed.

 

Another time, as Sam had rubbed the salve into his cock, he had had an erection.  He had apologised profusely but his nurse had just laughed and said he was surprised he hadn’t had one before.  “But it’s a real beauty,” he had grinned.  “Lucky the lover who finishes up on the end of that.”   For some reason, Ethril had felt very pleased.

 

When they finally reached Rohan, Sam insisted on coming with him as far as Mirkwood, “to make sure that you get there in one piece”.  They bought two horses and then set out on the final leg of the journey.

 

“So, why are you going to Mirkwood?” asked Sam one night, as they sat by their camp fire.  “To claim Thranduil as your prize?”  By now, he knew the whole sorry saga of Ethril’s centuries-long love for the elven king.  “Shouldn’t think that Thorin will be too thrilled about that.”

 

“Perhaps not,” replied Ethril stubbornly, “but after all that I have been through – for both of them – I think I deserve him.”

 

Sam sucked a blade of grass.  “Personally, I wouldn’t want someone who didn’t want me.  I’d rather be with someone who loved me as much as I loved him – and I’d keep on looking until I found him.”

 

“Well,” snapped Ethril, “I’ve looked for a thousand years and Thranduil is the only one I have ever loved.”

 

“Are you sure it _is_ love?  Or is it just an infatuation?” asked Sam, raising an enquiring eyebrow.  Estril had been wondering that himself these past few weeks but hated to be challenged.  He stood up and stomped over to the spot where he intended to set out his bed roll.  Sam came up close behind him and put his big hands gently on his shoulders.

 

“Shall I tend to your wounds now?” he asked quietly.

 

The elf lord didn’t say anything but stripped off his clothes and lay face-down on his bed roll.  Those cool hands slowly smoothed in the salve and then began to squeeze his buttocks.  The kneading continued until he felt his cock harden beneath his belly.  Ethril turned over and this time he wasn’t embarrassed by his stiff erection.  The seaman covered his hands in cream and then began to massage it into the elf’s prick.  It felt so good and he let out a long sigh.

 

Sam stripped off his clothes too and sat astride the elf’s thighs.  “Shall I?” he asked.

 

“Yes, please,” said Ethril.

 

The sensation was quite beautiful and the elf looked up at Sam’s broad, honest face with their piercing green eyes; and he grasped the strong muscles of his arms and shuddered with desire; and he felt the seaman’s prick, swollen and impatient, throbbing against his belly and they both came together in a powerful and extremely satisfying climax.  Slowly, they circled and floated down to the ground and both knew that everything had changed.

 

.o00o.

 

Ethril came stumbling out of the elven king’s apartments.  “Thorin!” he cried.  “Don’t be upset.  That’s not what I came for.  I just wanted to tell you both how it all worked out.”

 

“And what about your claim on Thranduil?” snarled the dwarven king.  “You’ll never give up, will you?”

 

“But I _have_ given up!” laughed Ethril in delight.  And he put his arm around Sam’s shoulder.  “I’ve given up because I’ve found the one I truly love.”

 

The two kings looked from Ethril to Sam and back again – both so tall, both so handsome, one so slim, one so broad-shouldered.

 

“No!” they both exclaimed together.

 

“Yes!” shouted the two gleefully.  “And isn’t love a wonderful thing?” added the elf lord.

 

.o00o.

 

Yes, love was a wonderful thing, the two kings decided, as they lay in bed together and had the best fuck in months and months.  Ethril and Sam had returned to the Grey Havens where Sam would continue to work on _The Grey Gull_ and Ethril would travel with him.  Ah, the call of the sea.  So romantic.  “I bet the rocking of the boat adds a certain something to a good screw,” said Thorin thoughtfully as he lay on top of the elven king.  “We must try it sometimes.”

 

“Good idea,” said Thranduil sleepily.  “But I’m just as happy to try it once more, here, on dry land.”  And he pulled the dwarven king fiercely between his open thighs.

 

.o00o.

 

**I’m so glad I thought of a way of finishing Ethril’s story because I’ve always had a soft spot for him.  Hope that all my readers are satisfied with the ending of his story too.**

**All my stories are standalone but they are part of a long arc about Thranduil and Thorin.  If you haven’t read any other stories which include Ethril and his relationship with the two kings, here they are in order:**

**_King of the Antlered Throne_ **

**_The Kings and the Elf Lord_ **

**_The Kings and an Old Love_ **

**_The Kings and their Jealousies_ **

**This Ethril arc is followed by my last series of 4 stories which are all about the Prince of Umbar, the slave market and, eventually, Ethril.  These stories are:**

**_The Kings and the Slave Market_ **

**_The Kings and the Prince of Umbar_ **

**_The Kings, the Prince and the Oliphant_ **

**And this final story:**

**_The Kings and the Sacrificial Victim_ **

****

**I keep meaning to stop writing but I’m still here, LOL.**

**If (BIG ‘if’) I decide to write any more, I shall try to make the next one a funny one.**

**Thank you for all your comments and support.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
